


Up (T)Here They Sit

by Sicklefang



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Best Friends, Gen, Hoping, Hurt No Comfort, I guess you could also just interpret it as 2 people living together, No Fluff, One Shot, Siblings, because that's true no matter what, emotionally that is, missing someone very much because they are gone, or actually going out with each other, or at least that's how it was meant to be read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:35:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sicklefang/pseuds/Sicklefang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was always up there.<br/>The last few months, every day, every hour - as far as he knew even every second.<br/>Always just sitting there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up (T)Here They Sit

She was always up there.  
The last few months, every day, every hour - as far as he knew even every second.  
Whenever he had come up to check on her, she'd always been there.  
Just sitting.  
Sitting and staring and not doing much of anything else but that.  
Maybe breathing, but even that was hard to tell at times.

If she stopped breathing for a few hours, no one would even realize.  
Not even he would, unless he was there right then and there and actually paying attention to it.  
But when he was with her, he had other stuff to worry about than whether she was actually still taking air into her lungs and releasing it again like a normal human being.

Things like what to tell her and what not.  
Like what to talk about to entertain her, for the few hours per day he could.  
Like what to look at and what not.  
Whether it'd be rude to stare, or if it'd be ruder to look away.  
What sounds to make and which to not make.  
Because laughing should be fine, but sighing, like a forlorn child, because she was gone, gone and just wouldn't come back, god knows why?  
Maybe not.  
But she didn't talk, so it's not like he was really sure of it.  
She didn't do much of anything, besides just sitting there and staring.  
He realized he didn't even know if she ever slept.  
He wanted to ask, but that'd probably be rude, so he didn't.

Normally, he'd just sit beside her.  
Sit down and stare too and start talking and telling her what was happening in the world she wasn't a part of anymore.  
Glance at her and try to gauge a reaction in those lifeless eyes, those lifeless lips, that lifeless face.  
Nothing.  
So he'd start talking again, because nothing meant he couldn't have said something wrong, right?  
But maybe if he would, she'd react.  
She'd react and break out of her self-imposed trance and get up.  
Turn to him, start yelling at him and berating him for ever saying something like that.  
Like whatever he'd have to say to upset her that much.

Sometimes he'd thought about doing that.  
Yelling profanities at her until she was bound to react, because she'd always hated profanities so much, how could she ever not react to them?  
But she was alone and no one else ever visited her anymore and he didn't want to seem like the last one to give up on her.  
He didn't want her to think her presence wasn't wanted anymore.  
Because he could still always find her up here and visit her whenever he could and tell her what had happened that day.  
Or the day before, when he forgot to mention something the other day.  
Who knew if that'd also be the case once he made her think that no one around here would miss her at all anymore?  
Who knew?  
Because he needed to know, but he couldn't take the risk.  
Wouldn't be able to live with it, if his last words to her would be profanities, screamed at her in a vain attempt to just get her back, but actually causing her to leave for good.

He wouldn't.  
So he didn't.  
So he just sat beside her, told her about all the things she was missing out on, because she was only sitting up here anymore and staring.  
Always staring and never leaving or doing anything besides it.  
And he'd continue hoping for her to come back eventually.  
To just blink a few times and lose that far-away look in her eyes and smile and laugh and react.  
React to what he was saying and to the changes of season happening around them.  
Just react again.  
And maybe even leave and come back with him for a change.

Maybe eat, maybe drink, maybe even sleep.  
Just for a little while.  
And talk.  
With others, with herself, with him.  
Like she used to, all that time ago.  
Before this place became her constant residence.  
Before it became impossible to tell whether she ever moved or not, because she never did when someone else was around anymore.  
And when all others were gone?  
Who knew?

He didn't.  
And it bothered him way more than he was willing to admit to himself.  
But maybe he'd admit it to her one day, in one of his constant rants.  
In one of his constant tries to get her back.  
Because the last months he'd been talking more than ever in his life.  
Maybe even more than all he'd ever talked combined.  
All to get her back.  
All to make her respond.  
All to just make her react.  
Someday, hopefully.  
He wasn't ready to give up hope yet.

Maybe she already had.  
Maybe that was why she was sitting up here every day, instead of coming back down again with him.  
Maybe she'd given up on responding and reacting.  
On eating, drinking, sleeping - maybe even breathing.  
Maybe she'd given up on it all.  
And maybe she'd given up on him.  
The thought made him shiver.  
Because he hadn't given up on her yet.  
Not yet, not ever.  
Or at least that's what he told himself.

The others had.  
Given up, that is.  
On her, at the very least, but maybe also on him.  
Because he was still trying and no one else was.  
And the last few weeks, contact with the others had gotten less.  
Though, that might've also been because he spent all his free time up here, with her, and none of the others wanted to see or hear from her anymore.  
At least not from him.  
But he didn't have much else to talk about anymore, so he'd just stopped.

Maybe he'd given up on them.  
Who knew?

Sometimes he wondered what was out there that was able to capture and keep her attention for so long, for so strong.  
Strong enough to forget food, to forget sleep, to forget water and the others.  
Strong enough to forget him too?  
Who knew?  
He hoped not, but who could be sure anymore.  
Who could be sure of anything anymore?

And sometimes he stared out there too, trying to see what she was seeing - maybe trying to get caught up in it too, just as bad as her.  
Or maybe even worse, so she'd come back before him and see him like he'd seen her.  
But he didn't want her to.  
Not really.  
Because he missed her and all time spent staring out and just sitting would be wasted time, if he could spent it talking with her instead.  
Talking with her, eating with her, drinking with her.  
Enjoying life with her again.  
Having her sleep close by and knowing she was sleeping.  
A luxury he hadn't been aware of until a few months ago.  
And then he had been.  
And then he'd hoped to get it back somehow, someday, so he could actually appreciate it fully, like he hadn't before.

But until now, there was no sign that he would.  
Not that he'd given up hope.  
No, not yet.  
He was full of it.  
Full of hope for her, full of adoration and too much love and hope to let her go.  
Too much to give up yet or even ever.  
All his hope was all for her.

And if he lived life only to meet up with her anymore, and if he sometimes forgot about eating or drinking or sleeping - or even breathing, in his haste to get to her side as soon as he could, then that was beside the point.  
If he spent all his time up here and none with the others anymore.  
If he didn't even realize his stomach was growling anymore, because it had become background noise at this point and if he didn't even remember the others' names anymore.  
If that was the way it was, then that was all beside the point.  
Because once she'd come back, he would.  
Once she'd be herself again and blink back to life, he'd come back with her and the others would get names again and there would be food and no growling stomach anymore.

She'd be back.  
He hadn't given up on her yet.  
He wouldn't ever give up on her.  
Or so he told himself.

And maybe the others had given up on her.  
And maybe the others had given up on him too.  
And maybe he'd given up on the others.  
And maybe she'd given up on it all.  
Who knew?

After all, she wasn't telling.  
She was just sitting and staring.  
Just sitting and staring and had been doing so for so long.  
And sometimes she was listening.  
To someone who just wouldn't give up on someone that had no plans on ever returning.  
Or maybe that someone did.  
Or maybe that someone would.

Who knew?  
Only time.  
And time stayed even more silent than she did.


End file.
